To Lament Her Absence
by TheAuthorC
Summary: Remy LeBeau would give anything to hear her voice, to hold her close. But after her sudden death sends his life into a desolate state, all he has left to hold onto is the promise he made her, a promise that forces his focus on stopping impending disaster.
1. The First Altercation

**Author's Note:**

**I hope you enjoy this fanfic; it's my first X-men story, so I hope I can live up to the other wondrous fics that have come before mine. **

**It falls into the X-men timeline right after Gambit's blindness yet before he turns to Apocalypse. At least I hope it is...I was watching key points to make sure it fell into this place, but I may have missed something- please forgive me if this be the case. **

**And just to let you know, I do not own X-men in any way shape or form. **

**UPDATE 12/6/07- I have rewritten a portion of chapter one as I felt the dialogue was not what I wanted it to be and not as well thought out as I wanted it to be. I hope this rewrite increases your enjoyment. **

**Thank You.**

**-----**

The cold, wicked wind beating upon all of those in attendance reflects his current flood of emotions. Still, his face remains stony, skin a combination of an intense pale and the red patches from the tears. Storm has offered to reveal the sun, to send a warm breeze their way, but he continues to refuse; keeps saying that it just wouldn't be right. And while the few words he has said have had an overdramatic twang, the others don't mind overlooking it, especially today; this one of those days a man should never have to witness.

Oh how he's tried to remain strong, tried to keep a grip on himself, but despite his best attempts, he's fooling no one. The spark in his red eyes had been stolen after the last time they met the green ones. Standing with a straight back and face directed towards the ground, the Cajun looks extremely uncomfortable in his formal attire, though the fact he's even here as all has surprised many (and cost Kurt $20 in a bet with Logan). After all, everyone knew that Remy LeBeau had died inside, and though he wishes it was, unfortunately, this is not his funeral.

And now, after all of the kind words have been shared, after the stories of happy times, they gather around the grave, heads bowed as Remy begins the shaky steps forward. His mind is devoid of any coherent thought, sorrow overlapping into every memories and mindset. Reaching forward, his ungloved hand traces the letters of the tombstone, as if his caresses will bring her back to him.

"Anna Marie" The grave reads, and below her formal name is where his fingertips run along the name he had known her by for so much longer…

"Rogue"

He knows the others are watching him, pitying him, and it sends a ripple of annoyance through him. Part of him longs to be alone here, to privately weep for the only woman he has ever fully, truly loved, yet at the same time, as soon as the mob leaves, that means this is over, that memories of Rogue will begin to fade away from their minds. Biting his lip as hard as possible, Remy allows his forehead to meet the cold stone. He closes his eyes to prevent any rebellious tears as he realizes this is truly it. Though he knows this, knows in his mind she's really gone, he still expects her gloved hand to rest upon his broad shoulder any moment, just as it always had before after a moment of lamenting. She would speak in a comforting tone in that sweet voice of hers, and he would turn to see her face, sharing his own consolation in exchange. But this time, the voice is hardly feminine.

"Gambit," comes the soft voice of Scott Summers. The male's hand rests upon the same shoulder, except hardly mimicking her gentle touch. "I'm so sorry…" Obviously baffled, the leader clears his throat and continues, "I know this has to be rough for you and I hope you know we don't expect you to be back out on the field tomorrow or even in a couple of weeks. We're all going to be here for you, all ready and willing to talk." A slight smile meant only to comfort trickles to his face, "Especially me. I understand how much this hurts, after everything that happened with Jean, I know how-"

"Stop right dere." Remy utters, shrugging away the hand as he turns. The red eyes have opened as fear of tears has ceased, lifted lids revealing a death glare. Scott's attempt at comforting has backfired. "Dere is no way dis anyt'ing like you and Jean." His rage boils, his mind races, recalling so many differences in the two situations. "You 'ave no idea how it hurts- don' even start with dat."

"Of course I do. I know how hard it is to let go, how much you wish you could go back and warn her, change everything before it happens. I know the heartache, the way you wake up in the middle of the night, convince yourself it was just a terrible dream only to realize your alone in the room."

"Alone in da room? How you know what dat like?" Remy shakes his head as a bitter chuckle leaves his lips, "Unlike you, I stayed loyal to my gal…I don' 'ave no Ice Queen on da side I replace 'er wit'."

"And what exactly do you mean by that?"

"What? Ya t'ink no one noticed? Ya t'ink everyone 'ere blind? Everyone know you two foolin' around long before Jean died. I mean anyone in you place do da same. Da minute you loose a bit control over you wife, turning to a blonde slut to keep you entertained; all right an' good! "

Conversation between the mourners has been killed by the raising of the Cajun's sarcastic voice. As soft gasps and shocked expressions appear at these words, Emma Frost fumes. She never attempted to hide her lack of interest in this funeral to begin with, and now that she's been insulted, her enthusiasm has dwindled even more. The expression of fury upon her pale face causes Kurt to lean towards Logan once more, betting him that Gambit is about to suffer the telepath's wrath.

"You've really gone too far Gambit…" Scott says sternly.

"Maybe you just don like everyone knowin' bad t'ings 'bout Cyclops." Remy's lost himself in these words, lost himself in a topic that furthers himself from the current situation, the current loss he still deals with; arguing forces his mind away from the memories. "Maybe you just hopin' everyone forget 'bout you cheating an' all!"

"Hypocrite!"

"Hypocrite?"

"Hypocrite!" Scott shouts again, hands flying to the air. "You're being a damn hypocrite!" As Remy's response is simply a puzzled look, he explains. "Here you are, with that infamous hypnotic charm of yours, seducing woman without blinking an eye…and more importantly, without even thinking of Rogue, and you're focusing on my affair? I think you don't want people knowing bad things about Gambit."

His expression goes blank a moment as the Cajun wasn't expecting focus to swerve back on him, "I told ya…I stayed loyal to 'er."

"Liar."

"We had our breaks," Remy begins, "Our relationship not so smooth really, we always had ups, downs, and breakups…"

"So just during the time you two were together you only had eyes for her? The moment one of you called it off you were hitting the town to find someone new?" The leader asks with a smirk.

"Don be puttin' words in my mouth. After all, you know 'bout dis sorta t'ing all too well." A smirk of his own slips over his lips. "Your love stays with one lady, but you gonna try your best to replace wit' any woman who could possibly fit da bill. An' when you do dat, all you left wit' is da physical satisfaction, not'ing real."

Emma continues to fume.

After a silent pause and the loss of his smirk, Scott finally asks, "Were you two on one of those "breakup" periods when she died?"

"No!"

"Did she even know that you loved her?"

"Yes! Everyone know I do! I don't know what you-"

"You didn't exactly show it Gambit," His voice has become as cool as the look on his girlfriend's face. "After all, you weren't even there to protect her. You were home, just bec-"

"Don't even say it!" A growl leaves Remy's lips as he gives into the urge to remove his weapon of choice from his suit pocket. Whipping his hand forward, three cards are revealed to hold the trademark pink glow. "Don't go dere! You know I why I couldn't be dere!" Emotion is streaked across his face, a combination of anger, pain, sadness, but most of all, desperation as he raises his hand to the air, as if preparing to throw. "You know I wish I had been dere!"

Scott offers no response, but reaches for his glasses, prepared to raise them at any moment, preparing for a physical battle, but the long overdue interruption in this altercation finally occurs. "Gentleman," The familiar, calm voice of Hank McCoy causes both faces to glance away from the intense focus on one another. Extending two of his blue, furry arms, he acts as a boundary between the two of them, as he attempts to return this funeral back to the peaceful, quiet day of respect it was originally planned to be. "These past days have been extremely rough on all of us and today has been a difficult day. Emotions tend to flare at such a time, and words are said that should not be. Obviously, there will need to be some discussion, but not today, not this day. Let us respect our teammate, our friend."

Scott's hand immediately lowers to his side, but Remy's hand still remains above him. Part of him wants to release those cards, toss them to the ground and remain; to die a dramatic death upon this grave. He would be with her then and honestly, he feels pretty dead already, death could be an easy escape from this hollowness.

But he can't die yet, he has matters he must attend to for Rogue, commitments he cannot and will not back out of. "As nice as dat sound Hank, no need for discussion. Dis chat be quite enough for me, as it is time I go." Turning before anyone says anything more to him, he glances to the grave once more, a sad smile slipping over his face. Reaching forward, he places a hand to letters once more, pressing against the "R" hard enough to leave a brief imprint in his skin. "Gambit loves you, chere." He inaudibly whispers, biting his lip once more. Memories flood his mind in this pause, images of Anna he's unwilling to store away. He's also unwilling to say goodbye to her, he simply cannot let go, and that's what's destroying him the most.

Without turning, he shares his decision with his teammates, the decision he has struggled with and contemplated greatly; it both pains him and relieves him to finally say it. "Gambit no longer an X-man..." He utters softly, "I can't be 'ere anymore…" Eyes flutter once more with the shake of his head, looking for words he cannot find, but when he realizes his attempts are pointless, he simply moves forward, feeling he cannot choke out the right sort of goodbye.

"Gambit!"

He hears the codename ring out in many different voices, but dares not to look back. Even with those switching to "Remy" and adding a "Wait!" or "Don't!", he pushes himself forward, though it hurts terribly. Walking towards the Mansion to gather his packed things, he thinks about the choice he made, if leaving those he knows and has shared years of his life with is really worthwhile. But there is really no other option at this point; even in death, Rogue always comes before anyone else. After all, he made her a promise which in turn is a promise to himself, and like his reactions to other situations he has gotten himself into the past, he has no intentions of backing out. Though he had always hoped he'd have her to hold onto rather than just a task for her, he has to do this. Whether it will help with his sorrows or just increase them, he doesn't know, but at this point it doesn't really matter; a promise is a promise.


	2. The First Set of Promises

**Authors Note: Thank you to all of those who reviewed the story so far. I'm glad to see you enjoyed it the first chapter and hope you stick around and enjoy all of what's yet to come.**

**This chapter has a flashback! Just thought that was something exciting to know...**

**Another exciting thing to know; I do not own X-men in any way shape or form.**

**Enjoy!**

**-----**

Speeding beyond the gates of Xavier's Mansion, the Cajun feels like he can finally breathe. The air is still cool, but the heat of his fury remains in his system, distracting him from the temperature. While most of his mane has remained pulled back in the ponytail, wisps of hair dance freely in the breeze, and Remy desperately wishes that freeing feeling that usually comes with the motorcycle experience would kick in already. Though he tries to ignore it, the tugging in his heart reminds him this lack of joy may have something to do with the fact his only companion along for the ride is his black travel bag. Again he waits for her hands, waits to feel her arms around his chest, but she isn't there. And while he had taken most of his trips on this bike without her, there is still an ache for those times they did share, the time they spent together; times that he will never have again.

Once he hits the main road, gets far enough away from the mansion and that he can't turn back, his mind begins to wander, taking him down a path off memory lane he doesn't want to travel. It's the same night he's thought of over these past few days, a night that he loves to relieve as he can see her so vividly and can almost feel her touch, but hates how its events sent them down a path set on disaster and loss…

-----

As he emerged from his shower, the first thing he noticed was how magnificently the city lights traced her silhouette. Rogue was curled upon the velvet divan before the large window, face turned towards the streets of Pairs. A green, silk nightdress adorned her frame and catching sight of the thin straps and bare shoulders, Remy was slightly surprised with the contrast with her usual tendency to cover all bare skin. Of course, he could see something on her arm, an elbow length glove of the same rich green. Under the guise of waiting, it was obvious that she was lost in her own thoughts; to see her so still was rather uncommon.

It seemed a little odd that she was as fascinated by all beyond the window as this was hardly the first time they had made an escape to the city. But then again, this was the first time they had been granted two weeks leave and with the X-men roster on the rise, the chance of being called home on emergency was small. This was their chance to simply be a couple, to blend in with the human population around them and enjoy smaller things than constantly saving the world. After watching her a moment, he snapped back to reality, ready to spend another peaceful evening together.

"Do y' t'ink dat such a wise idea?" He asked, waiting to see if his attempt to jar her from the world of her own mind was successful.

It was. "What?" Her head instantly swung towards him, revealing her lovely face and its look of puzzlement at his words.

A sweet smile slipped over his lips, "Y' only a guest in city world-renowned for its beauty and 'ere y' are out shinin' it."

After a pause and a curious expression, Rogue finally shook her head and chuckled, "Do ya evah actually listen ta yo'self, when ya say this stuff? Do ya think anyone evah buys it?"

"Yes an' yes." He answers confidently, "Now my turn t' ask question."

"Shoot."

"Do y' enjoy teasin' me, chere? Sittin' dere lookin' so lovely like dat?"

Her own playful smile grew as she arched her back slightly, tilting her head against the divan in an obvious overdramatic position, "That's it exactly, Sugah." She teased in a breathy tone, "Ah like ta mess with a man who never had trouble gettin' his hands all over a gal."

"Oh really? Well dat's just cruel." Crossing the room with a playful grin, he swung by his nightstand, grabbed his pair of thick, driving gloves and dangled them forward as he drew near.

"Clever." She replied to the sight, sliding across the divan to make room for him. "An' what exactly ya intendin' ta do with those?"

The first glove already covered a hand as he took the offered seat and he wasted no time in sliding on the second. "Well, I was t'inking…maybe somet'ing like…" Remy reached towards her at this point, sliding his covered fingers to her check, lightly tracing downward. "…like dat."

He expected to be pushed away; he expected to hear the same old speech about how dangerous it was for them to be so close when there was exposed skin. But as she leaned her cheek towards his fingers rather than away, Remy felt a wave of surprise crash over him. His red eyes flickered to her green ones, watching with great caution for the moment a concerned look slipped over her face, to be prepared for her gloved shove, but it never came. Instead, he felt her own hand extending to his face with such a blank look to her face, it felt almost…eerie.

Still, he let the thought pass as they continued the dangerous game, with each touch scooting closer and closer to one another, until she was almost in his lap. Suddenly, out of no where, the sensual feeling of the moment was shattered with no warning as her hands gripped his almost painfully tight. Even less expected were the words she blurted out.

"Do ya evah think 'bout why ya became an X-man?"

For the second time that evening, the surprise hit the Cajun again. Where did a question like that come from? Her mind had apparently been on a track much different than his. "Anna…" He gently replied, "I thought dis was our escape from all dat; our break fro' savin' da world. Time for just da two of us ta enjoy."

An almost embarrassed look slipped over her face and her eyes flickered away, taking so long to respond that Remy began to fear he said the wrong thing; a night that had so much potential seemed to be heading in a downward spiral. "Ah know that was tha plan…but ah can't help but think 'bout it, ah can't help but wonder if we forfeited all rights ta breaks an' vacations…if we forfeited any right ta have our own lives at all."

Her hands loosened their grip and he quickly pulled his own from hers. Reaching to the left of him, he grabbed the blanket draped over the arm of the divan, shifting his body slightly as she continued to speak.

"Ah mean, if ya think 'bout it, we signed our lives away on this one. Any day we could be out there, just doin' what we always do an' our lives could be ended by one of them madmen. Ah don't think we ever consider tha danger when we head out on tha field, we just figure our powers gonna protect us from everythin'."

Reaching out to her as it seemed tears were about to pour, he carefully pulled her closer to him, holding her against his chest with the barrier of a blanket between him. He knew this was something that must have been troubling her the whole evening as she didn't attempt to pull away before realizing there was protection from meeting his skin- for once, she just let him hold her.

"Chere," He began softly, trying to figure out what could be said. As he thought everything through, he realized that she was not looking for his X-men testimonial, but something completely different. "Is dis more 'bout bein' a X-man, or 'bout mortality?"

She didn't respond right away, almost as if she had to think about all of this. That was the only disadvantage of getting to hold her like this, he couldn't see her face, couldn't know what her expression told that her lips didn't. "Ah just can't help but wonder if one these times, ah'm gonna go out there an' not come back." Shaking her head for a moment, she added, "There are all these things that ah left unresolved, things ah wanta do…" Her voice trailed off as she clutched his hand once more, "Things ah never told ya, things we never done…"

"I not goin' let dat 'appen…y' know dat." His hand squeezed hers back, arms holding her a bit closer as a protective instinct had kicked in. "I want all dose t'ings to…I ain't evah gonna let y' go like dat."

"Ya can't promise that-"

"But I am anyway."

She was quiet once more, until a weary sigh left her lips, "There's so much ya don't know, Remy." Her voice was soft, almost as if she didn't want him to hear. "Ah've gotten myself int' quite a few things that I still have ta straighten out; things that if ah died tomorrow would still be goin' on."

Realizing that there is even more to this conversation then fear, he began to wonder if he could change the topic causally, as he did not like how serious this whole talk became. But he knew he couldn't simply push it aside, and frankly, his curiosity got to him as well. "Like what?"

"There a reason ah haven't told ya, Sugah. Actually, there lotta reasons." She paused, once again as if she was thinking of what she could and couldn't say. "Ah don't want ya worryin' 'bout me for one thing-"

"But y' already got me doin' dat now."

"Not nearly as much as ya would if ya knew…" She sighed a moment, "If somethin' happened ta me tomorrow, Ah know things would just come crashin' down, that a lotta people would end up payin' for my mistakes."

"Den let me 'elp."

"I'm not lettin' ya get involved Remy…least not now."

There was an awkward pause that followed, as he was unsure whether she was about to share something else on this ill-fated train into issues he hadn't wanted to ride, or if she was going to loosen her tense position and just let them enjoy this brief moment of peace. He was rather frightened by this change in pace, these words she spoke that seemed so random, so unbelievable; he had never thought she could do anything as wrong as she claimed this was and he just wished he wasn't so confused by the whole thing.

"Ah've been thinkin' 'bout this awhile." She softly began, "Thinkin' 'bout what could happen an' after so many close calls, ah realized that since my own selfishness got me int' this mess, ah may hav' ta be selfish again an' ask someone ta clean up…"

"What do y' need me t' do?" The Cajun asked, as he felt the awkward question would never be asked if he didn't step in.

"Nothin' " She answered firmly as she turned to face him. "Nothin' now an' hopefully never at all…"

"Well den why y' telling me 'bout it?" Remy felt a combination of concern and annoyance at the situation, "Y' gonna go worrin' me sick 'bout somet'ing, yet not let me 'elp or even tell me what goin' on? Why y' even bring it up in da first place?" Mumbling, he added, "Y' really do enjoy teasin' me, don' y'?"

Rogue hesitated, as if she wished she hadn't begun this. Gently, she pulled away from his arms, and reached towards the window frame. "Ah brought it up because ah was finishin' up this when ya came in." In her trembling fingers, she held an envelope as if it was a dead fish. "It's everything ah can't tell ya now, everythin' that ah never want ya ta know. But if somethin' happens ta me..." "She held the letter towards him, meaning for him to take it. "Please, just take it an' promise me that ya won't open until ah tell ya or until Ah'm dead; which ever come first."

And while he thought of arguing, thought of insisting he deserved to know now, he wanted to comfort her more than anything the expression on her visage was absolutely heartbreaking. Remy hated to see her so distressed and that was the only reason he let the matter drop. After all, he assumed it couldn't be nearly as bad as she made it sound, he figured she had to be overreacting a bit. Everything would eventually cool off and she would tell him everything; he just wanted it to end up being that simple. "I promise it stay closed until y' want me t' see it." He reassured her, "I promise dat I not gonna let anything happen ta y', I not gonna be letting' y' die on me." Wearing a gentle smile, he added, "And even if somet'ing were ta happen to y' , which it won', I take care of any sort of mess y' leave behind."

"Promise?" She asked softly, laying her head on his covered shoulder.

"I promise."

-----

The memory of this most unusual night has reminded him that he has already broken one of his promises to her, kept one, and has one left to be fulfilled. He let her die, not being there to save her, but waited to read the letter. Now it was the grand finale, time to make sure he kept that last agreement, and saved all involved in the unfolding nightmare. Remy had never thought that his sweet Rogue could have ever gotten herself into such a place, let alone drag in so many others they both loved in with her, but her fears were without merit, as her image in his mind remains the same.

And in his mind, as he continues to speed along this road, he can't help but think of her written words as he must have read them at least a hundred times since her death. He recalls how she asked him to forgive her for everything he would read, everything she had done as well as the secrets she kept, and he can't help but realize that it isn't her he's having any trouble forgiving, it's him. If he had broken that promise, had read her words sooner, there was a good chance he could have prevented not only her death, but the hell that was about to break loose from the situation she helped create.

But at the moment, he has other things to think about, such as how this first stop of his trip is going to go, if he really can go through with what he has planned. While better memories regarding no promises try to dance through his mind, Remy is thankful for something to focus on, a name to ponder with great curiosity; Dr. Karol E. Vahmen.


	3. Blonde Transition

**Author's Note: **

**Thank you again dear readers for your encouraging reviews. I hope that this story continues to entertain you all and that you'll stick around to read all that's coming next. **

**Sadly, I do not own X-men in anyway, because if I did, that would be pretty spiffy. **

**Enjoy!**

**UPDATE 1/26/08- I have updated this chapter due to the fact I had about fifty billion little errors that were driving me nuts when I read over it again. If you've already read this, there aren't any major changes. **

**And to let you know, chapter four is on the way, but with a combination of writer's block and schoolwork, it's taking a bit longer to come together than the first three.**

--------

Standing before the grimy mirror, Remy LeBeau takes a moment to simply stare at his reflection. Yes, he's looked at his face before, checked it before going out to make sure it held that look of charm, glanced to check if it was clean, etc., but never like this. It has gotten to the point that while his gaze remains so intensely focused, he isn't really thinking of exactly what he's looking at anymore. It's just odd to look upon his appearance and realize that in twenty minutes or so, the mirror will show someone entirely different.

Those unusual eyes of his finally break away as he forces his gaze back to the sheet of directions in one hand and the small bottle of hair dye in the other. And it's in this second that he wonders if perhaps this is the stupidest thing he has ever done in an attempt of pulling off the perfect disguise. After all, even if dying his auburn locks is a good idea in the first place, doing so in the dirty bathroom of a back road gas station seems hardly the perfect place. There is just an eerie feeling in the dimly lit, graffiti plastered room. Doubts flood his mind, bringing along pessimistic thoughts and he truly begins to wonder if he's wasting his time by going through all this trouble.

But suddenly, Remy turns on the water and leans inward to the facet, allowing the liquid to run through his hair, deciding he must act before he possibly talks himself out of doing this, before he convinces himself that there is no need to disguise himself for this task. As each strand becomes soaked, he focuses on the fact that the X-men have often been in the media and his face has appeared in countless news reports. There are too many risks entering in this establishment as "Gambit", too much to lose. Not only does need to keep his promise, but he must keep those who are still alive out of the same grasping the hands that Anna found herself entangled in; he can't risk losing his one shot at keeping these goals due to vanity.

So this is why he wastes no time in placing the nozzle of the bottle to his roots, just as the direction state, and beginning the process of becoming a blonde. Yes, the last shade he would ever want his mane to be is unfortunately the only one he could find about the Mansion. And considering the fact he found it in the one of the bags of groceries when he had simply been looking for the carton of cigarettes he had asked for, he can't help but keep himself occupied as he waits for the color to set by wondering which member of the team had been planning to use it.

There are a few obvious candidates who could have simply been planning to touch up a few, stray, gray hairs (Sam, Bobby, Warren, etc.) but the image of Logan or even Kurt adding it to the weekly list is simply more entertaining. During these ten minutes of waiting for the shade to take hold, Remy experiences a sense of peace he thought was lost forever with Rogue's death. His mind travels down memory lane, for once taking the path less travelled, the path paved with the greatest moments of his time with the X-men, the times with his mismatched, blended mutant family. Sure, life hadn't been happy twenty-four seven, there had been many times he wished he was just back to the days where thievery dominated his life and thoughts, but the times he currently relives make up for all the times of frustration, anger, and sorrow.

But the peace is soon shattered as before he knows it, the timer egg timer he had also taken from the kitchen rings, telling him time is up, telling him the color had set and to follow the last step on the paper. There is nothing he can do now, no way to slip out of this one; the results of this dye are final; and that's a bit of a frightening thought. Hanging his head over the sink, his eyes squeeze shut for a moment, fearful to see if this has turned out as bad as he thinks it could \have. Taking a breath, he slowly raises his head and his gaze and in that moment he catches sight he knows it instantly.

Remy LeBeau is not meant to ever be a blonde…

But he can't allow himself to be stunned for long and with a shake of his head directed towards his own idiotic choice, he tosses the empty box to the floor along with the rest of the remains from the hair dying experience.Reaching into the black travel bag, he pulls the silver scissors out, looking at his locks, and back at the scissors. Contemplating such a choice is giving him more trouble than the initial dye. Remy turns, looking to his ponytail, and raises the scissors upwards.

But then he lays them down.

And then he picks them back up.

And then he lays them down again…

The process continues for a few moments as he wonders why he should lose the length, if it there is any reason to go this far; he has already butchered his hair enough. But the argument is almost more convincing; why does it matter what it looks like? He's no longer trying to impress anyone with his appearance; he isn't looking for the company of beautiful women. There's no reason he shouldn't-

Even he is unsure whether or not he secretly does it on purpose or if it is a pure accident, as the metal object suddenly slips from his fingers and falls into a wet spot on the grimy concrete floor. After thinking about what the puddle the blades sit in could possibly be, he accepts that this decision has been made for him and that the length shall remain the same. Besides, the ponytail makes him look more thief-like, yes? Well, at least that's what he'll tell himself…

Finally, after close to an hour of working on his new look, he emerges, meeting the same chilly day that he left. Though it's hardly his best work, considering the circumstances, Remy is rather proud of his disguise (though once again- the blondeness is optional). He hardly looks like the same Ragin' Cajun he has been known and loved as. Even though most of his mane is pulled back in the tight tie, there are a few escaped wisps of blonde blowing about in the hard breeze. It's rather hard to adjust in his new attire at first as the plain, burgundy button up shirt and the new, black trousers look too clean-cut for the man used to ripped jeans and t-shirts. He adjusts the dark sunglasses covering his eyes and glances to a few of the truckers and travelers around him, wondering if any of them find it suspicious he happens to be wearing shades even though there isn't a trace of sun in the sky.

As he takes his seat on the motorcycle, the breeze picks up, and a chill is sent through him at lightning speed. Biting his lip, Remy wonders if perhaps he should go back for the trademark coat he has held onto for years, a coat that now lays on that concrete floor next to the empty hair dye box. He intended for it to stay behind here because of all the memories sewn into that brown lining, the years of his young adulthood, his time with the X-men, and his days of glory. How many times had he pulled off amazing heists in that coat? How many fights had he won while wearing the garment?

But above all, he can't help but remember when she used to clutch his sleeve and when the yellow glove was placed to his shoulder. The day after she died, the first day of grieving, he convinced himself that the coat actually held her sweet scent from the times he had placed it around her, the times he had used it not only to keep her warm and comfort her, but so he could sneak in a moment to hold her. The coat had seen their whole romance and has quite a love story it could share with the world, a story it only shares with Remy at the moment.

With these memories, he kicks the kickstand and hightails it out of the parking lot, his decision on the coat final. The garment simply has to stay; he can't take be reminded of the story any longer. What would he even do with it now? Wearing it would drive him mad, but just keeping it in the bottom of his bag would be worse. Besides, he can handle being cold, it isn't as if it's a factor that's going to make him break his promise; a chill in the air does nothing to affect his devotion and love for Anna.

After all, once you've spent a good deal of time in Antarctica, cold air and chills don't have quite as powerful of an effect.


	4. Visit with Vahmen

**Author's Note:**

**I am terribly sorry that I disappeared for so long! Life became so dreadfully busy and this chapter wasn't falling quite into place as well as I thought it would. Don't you hate when things sound so good in your head and just don't seem as brilliant on paper? I know I do. **

**Anyway, thank you to all of those who have left me reviews! I truly appreciate your opinions and am extremely amazed with the positive reactions from everyone. Hopefully, this chapter will keep you just as entertained. **

**And by the way, I don't own X-men. I know, shocking, right?**

xXx

Who ever knew a door could be so closely examined? Remy LeBeau most certainly did not; he has never thought of doors before really, they were just something that was there. Just as one never really sits and thinks about the concept of a chair but instead the reason they sit, people are usually more concerned with what was behind the door, rather than the door itself.

But here he finds himself, standing before this entranceway, pondering the power it currently has over him. It's a nice enough looking door, painted with a crisp clean white color and practically spotless. However, the one thing that sets this door apart from others he has seen in his very exciting life is the black nameplate on the metal which reads "Dr. Karol E. Vahmen".

You see, this is the door that will change everything. Before, with all of his preparations, the dyed hair, the coat being left behind, changing the plates on his motorcycle and leaving it in a part of town hardly known for safety and security- he could still return to the Mansion and the X-men would happily take him back (Though that "happily" would probably exclude Scott and Emma). He could still walk away from this, leave the task unfulfilled, and try to forget about all he knows. Once he opens that door, once he meets with this man, he will be stuck having to attempt to complete a mission that seems far too large for one man, and his pleasure of having late-night chats with Ororo, smoking breaks with Logan, Wednesday night poker competitions where everyone always cheats, and that constant support and love from his teammates will be gone for good. Once he enters this, seeing or having contact with any of them will only put them danger.

Still, even as he realizes when this door closes so does that chapter of his life, he suddenly pulls down the handle and swings the door open with no hesitation.

A light classical tune fills the waiting room as he enters and he can't help but admire how much thought Vahmen put into this; it may just be a front, but it was a well thought-out front. It truly looks like your average waiting room; a rack full of bent and ripped magazines, a table with pamphlets on anxiety and depression, and a coat rack that holds one painfully bright blue ski

jacket that someone obviously left behind a while ago- the works.

Remy quickly crosses the room towards the glass which behind an ancient secretary sits. Stony faced and deep set wrinkles, the woman grudgingly slides open the glass divider at the sight of him. "May I help you?" She asks in her monotone voice.

"Yes." He answers clearly, working diligently to muffle some of his harsh Cajun accent. "I'm here to see Dr. Vahmen." His eyes flicker over the counter; trying to catch sight of a name he can attach himself to, a name that can carry him into the office to face the doctor.

She's silent for a moment, a curious expression on her visage before looking down on the sheet before her. "Name?"

The road has barely begun, yet it looks like he's already hit a dead end. There is no schedule book, no sign-in sheet, nothing to hide behind as the woman's beady little eyes seem to look right through him to the very depths of his soul. He is completely prepared to enter the conversation with Vahmen, has an alias to go along with his new look, but now doubts that he can slip by this woman as she seems like one of those types that goes strictly by the book. Everything slows for a minute as the Ragin' Cajun, the famous charmer Remy LeBeau takes a moment as for once in his life he has can't find the right words to say.

Thank goodness someone else does for him.

"It's alright Nancy." Comes a deep voice from the other side of the room. "He's a new patient, called when you were out on your lunch break. Seeing how the next appointment isn't until four, I figured I could squeeze him in."

His head snaps towards the direction of the voice and his eyes fall upon the man he can only assume is Doctor Vahmen. The odd thing is the man's appearance is the complete opposite of the officially unofficial villain dress code he's used too when coming face to face with the bad guys. The doctor has a youthful look about him, a face free from wrinkles with a charming smile that could actually surpass the Cajun's…well, only if Remy was having an off-day or something along those lines. His short, curly, dirty blonde hair is missing the slicked back look so many of the wicked embrace. Dressed neatly in a causal tan suit, his tan skin almost blends into the sleeves of the jacket. The warm look on his soft face almost causes Remy to let down his guard. The only thing off about him is the look in his wide hazel eyes, for an emotion glimmers in the gaze that he can't identify, but definitely doesn't like; he's seen that before, can't quite place it, but knows it all too well.

"Hello Mr…" The man begins before pausing a moment, "Pardon me for forgetting, but what was your name again?"

"Christophe Bandeau." Remy answers naturally.

"Ah yes. Well, Mr. Bedeau, it's a pleasure to meet you." Extending a hand, he offers his own introduction, "Dr. Karol E. Vahmen. Let's step into my office."

xXx

Tapping his fingers along the cherry wood desk, Remy waits for the confrontation to begin. Vahmen seems to be dragging this out as long as he can, slowly fiddling with a thermos of coffee though his eyes remain in a deadlock stare, so intense it seems he can see right through him. While the doctor may not hold the usual appearance of a villain- that stare makes up for the lack of black in his ensemble. Finally, he decides he has to speak up, start the ball rolling himself.

"Why'cha ya cover for me?" The accent differs now, to one he knows he can more easily managed, one he can more easily stay in character throughout the length of time he must keep up his act. It's an odd blend of his own harsh Cajun and a dash of thick Southern, as if he constantly commutes between New Orleans and Atlanta.

A smirk tugs at the corner of Vahmen's lips, as he continues to draw out the moment, taking a long sip from his mug, before finally responding, eyes glued to Remy's, straight through the sunglass barrier, the entire time. "Mr. Bedeau, considering the effort it must have taken to seek me out, I figure it must be worth five minutes to see what you have to say." A shrug rolls off his shoulders, "Whether you provide anything of use to me or simply give me something to laugh about later on is yet to be seen." Flashing a quick grin, the man settles back into his desk chair, "So what bring you here? I'm listening."

It has taken Remy every bit of strength he has to hold himself back from lunging across the desk and wrapping his hands around the man's throat, demanding answers to every question he has and to stop the plan in motion before simply strangling the last ounce of life from him. But that would only feel good for a second, as by avenging Anna's death in such a manner he'd actually be going against everything she had asked him to do, lose his shot at fulfilling his promise.

Still, even in the disguise that he loathes, he is still the famous Remy LeBeau and does not allow a hint of this anger and hatred to show on his face. Reaching up, he removes the sunglasses balanced on his nose, revealing his eyes that show his desire for information and a new color to the gaze.

In the restroom of the office building, he had decided that the sunglasses were way too suspicious and with a lack of enthusiasm pulled the box of colored contacts from his bag. He had been hoping to slip by without using them, but it was simply bothering too much. While they had been incredibly annoying to get in and had him cursing up a storm, he had gotten them in after a few minutes of struggle.

So as he meets the hazel stare, his eyes are still indeed strange, still unique and memorable, but now hold a sparking reddish-purple hue instead of the bright red. "Ah came because ah found t'is…" Reaching into his shirt pocket, he removes a yellow business card and slides it across the desk. Silently, he quickly thanks Rogue for leaving him this, something to get his foot in the door. "It says dat ya'll are lookin' for a t'ief around 'ere…"

Vahmen picks of the card with a hint of puzzlement and curiosity coming over his previously smug expression. "Where did you find this?" His voice has dropped that jolly, overconfident tone, as if he is beginning to wonder how much of a laugh this meeting will truly be.

"A week ago, ah was cleanin' out an apartment downtown- guy left in a real hurry apparently. He wasn't too bad off, so ah figured ah might see if dere was anyt'ing interesting lying around. And what'da ya know, sure enough, dere was! Found it on Mr. Stone's desk next ta couple bills and a threat letter." With his own smirk, Remy leans back in his seat, playing his own over-confidence card to make the next moments all the better.

After a moment of staring in disbelief, his eyes reading over the words in his own penmanship, the address to the office, the doctor lays the card on the desktop, and sighs. "I'm not sure how much you know about our establishment here, Mr. Bedeau, but I take great pride in _personally_ finding those who are of value to our goals. I followed Mr. Stone for weeks a few years back, checked references and every source I could find; I knew when I offered him a position here, I had found of the best of the best. No offense to you, but I have no idea of your skills and abilities, if you could even pickpocket the most gullible fool in this world." Shaking his head slightly, "I'm sorry, but if you came here looking for a job that isn't going to hap-"

His words are cut off as once more the doctor seems to find himself facing the unexpected. For just as he has brought up the lack of knowledge regarding his skills, Remy has reached into his pocket and begun to lay out a wallet, a cell phone, and a lighter in a straight line across the desk, a gentle smirk on his lips as he said nothing. Once he finally makes eye contact with the man once more, loving the shock that seems to rest in those eyes, he quickly snaps his fingers, "Ah almost forgot!" Pulling out a pack of cigarettes, he first takes one for himself before laying the box in the line of stolen processions. Lighting up using a second lighter he reveals, he takes the opportunity to take a quick drag.

"Ah think those t'ings are ones you probably be missin' later, no?" All five had been items he managed to pull from Vahmen's pockets as the other mindlessly chatted during their walk down the hallway to their current location. The doctor was dedicated to maintaining the legitimacy of front and he took advantage of that.

He sits as if in some sort of trance during this lighting up, but it isn't long before the doctor snaps out of it, reaching across his desk and snatching the objects, wasting little time in returning them to the right places. The look on his face seems to be changing by the second, as if he's trying to figure out how he should respond to such a situation.

After a moment of flustered motion, the man finally regains composure and looks to the other once more. Mumbling a moment, he places his hand to his brow, "We always could use another skilled thief on our team, there are always plenty of things we need stolen…" Hesitating, he finally nods, having finally decided in his own mind on the choice. "Tomorrow we have a testing for other new recruits in the morning, to find out who will actually make the final cut, who actually can make it in the conditions one faces in an operation like ours. If you pass the test, I'll break my own rule, just this one time, and let a walk-in have a place with us."

Balancing the cigarette on his lip, Remy offers a hand to the other, "Ah'll be there." It is taken coolly in a quick shake, causing him to grin. His heart rises in his chest, thrilled that he's one step closer to fulfilling his mission. Sure, he probably should ask what exactly is going to be required of him, how difficult this test will be; see if he can get any information about the way it'll work, but he really isn't worried about it. He's gotten through the speaking; any chance to show off his skills and abilities is always fun and appreciated.

"Unfortunately, I can't go into detail about our business here until still prove your worth, but, there is one thing you must know." Finally settling on a file, Vahmen pulls it out and places it on the desk, checking the contents as he continues. "I know nothing of your morals, Mr. Bedeau. I know nothing of your past or your goals for the future. But if you're hoping to be a hero, get your name in the history books or something, you must understand that we are not the heroes. To the world, we are the villains, the bad guys. You know obviously, that you'd be asked to steal, but you'll have to lie, cheat, and perhaps even murder. You may be killed if you fail or slip up, either by our enemies or by your superiors. We have no time for changes of heart or debates over right and wrong. Do you understand?"

"Yes." The Cajun answers simply, already devoted to doing anything he must to keep his word- even if it haunts him forever.

"And you still wish to join us?"

"Yes. Da whole 'hero routine' don't really appeal ta me anymore."

"Alright then…" The doctor quickly writes "Christophe Bedeau" on the tab of the tan file. Reaching for a tablet to his right, he quickly writes a few notes and numbers. "You'll stay with us for the evening at least, as we provide housing for our employees; we need to know you aren't going to simply leave us with an open spot tomorrow morning. Your room is 304." Sliding the paper into the folder, he shares the rest of what is written. "Tomorrow at 8:00 am you will be expected in the audition room- it's in the basement of the building your room is in and is the only thing down there; not hard to miss." Holding the file out for the other, he continues. "Have these forms filled out and with you when you arrive- otherwise we can't even give you a shot…and what a shame that would be."

Remy quickly takes the file, uttering a polite, "Thank ya." His mind races with questions of what happens next, if he's perhaps signed up for more than he should have. It's kind of intimidating as it seems he's stuck here now, no chance of leaving this place, but at the same time, rather nice that this option isn't even a temptation for him. Maybe tonight he can actually have some time to breathe, time to think about everything without fear of someone walking in his room in an attempt to comfort him, without worry that he won't even make it to see Vahmen, and without the idea he should back out circling through his mind.

The doctor reaches for the phone on his desk, pressing a button before glancing back to the Cajun. "Someone should be over to escort you to our main building in a few minutes. It'll be about a half an hour drive from here to our complex outside of the city." Folding his hands on the desk, he goes on, "Before he arrives, I can't tell you much, but I'll answer any questions about this initial process that seem reasonable."

Though he knows that the other won't be able to answer anything he truly wants to know, he settles for a secondary question. "So tomorrow, if ah pass t'is "test" and have my paperwork, dat it? Ah'm part of t'is group?"

Vahmen nods. "I'll have to do some screening...but pretty much so, yes."

"So afterward ah get mah uniform and codename and all?"

The burst of laughter that leaves the doctor's lips slightly startles Remy, as he really isn't expecting that sort of response.

"Uniform? Codename?" The man continues to chuckle, shaking his head, "Who the hell do you think we are, Bedeau? The X-men?"


End file.
